


Bread

by saltyfeathers



Series: Frivolity is the Spice of Life [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas bake bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bread

**Author's Note:**

> this is an old ass prompt that i'm pretty sure never made its way to my new blog, and I haven't put anything in this series for over a year so why not, right?

Cas does not want to make bread.

In fact, Cas would be happy if he never had to enter a kitchen again.

The last time he tried to make anything, he almost burnt down the kitchen and Dean yelled at him for half an hour about the sanctity of toasters and frozen strudel.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t a pleasant experience, and Cas has decided to stay away from any and all experiences that aren’t pleasant.

As an angel, it’s a lot easier to leave distressing situations than it is as a human. Cas learned that the hard way when he tried to fly off in the middle of Dean’s toaster lecture and just ended up squeezing his eyes shut, with Dean finally breaking stride to tell him he looked like he was, “more constipated than a competitive burrito eater”.

So when Dean ushers Cas into the kitchen one day (much to Cas’ very vocal and physical dismay- there may be gouges approaching claw marks in the doorframe, but Cas isn’t owning up to anything) and gestures with a wide, sunny smile to the array of ingredients set out on the counters, Cas feels that it is very much justified that he crosses his arms and glares at Dean like he would very much like to smite him, whether it be by human or angel means.

Dean tosses a careless arm across Cas’ shoulder, and steers him towards the counter.

“Time to get over your fear, Cas,” he announces. “The kitchen is your friend.”

Cas prods the whisk that’s sitting next to a mixing bowl.

“This looks unpleasant,” he decides, and turns around on his heel, beelining for the door.

“Oh no you don’t,” Dean grabs Cas by the sleeve and pulls him back. Cas stumbles into Dean, and Dean steadies him with firm hands on his shoulders.

He leans close, like he’s about to tell Cas a secret, hands moved to either side of his face.

“I refuse to share a kitchen with someone who can’t even work a toaster properly,” Dean admits, “so you really have no choice in the matter,” he pats Cas on the cheek with a condescending smile that barely contains the slightly manic intent beneath.

Cas notes, in his ever growing catalogue of all things Dean, that he must never come between a stressed Dean and any sort of cooking appliance.

“Very well,” Cas finally acquiesces, with a curt nod. “We’ll bake this bread.”

Dean’s face splits into a grin.

“That’s the spirit. Let’s get mixing,” Dean moves behind Cas to reach the counter, slapping his ass on the way.

Cas stiffens immediately, and Dean chuckles, whistling as he starts sorting ingredients.

“Lighten up, Cas. One day we’ll do something about that stick in your ass.”

Dean’s done this sort of thing to Sam before. Cas has read about it in some of the… less than stellar installments of the Winchester gospels.

But it’s the first time he’s done it to Cas, and ridiculous as it seems, Cas sees it as some sort of rite of passage.

It makes him more susceptible to the idea of baking bread, at least. But only a little bit.

“Okay,” Dean instructs, after having Cas wash his hands and roll up his sleeves. “This is actually the first time I’ve done this as well, so I guess we’re both popping some cherries today.”

Cas narrows his eyes in confusion.

“How exactly does one pop a cherry?” he asks, “they’re solid fruits. They can’t be popped.”

Dean doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes at Cas anymore. He’s resigned to the idea that any sort of pop culture reference or saying is just going to fly right over Cas’ head.

“It’s just a saying,” Dean explains, pouring some dry ingredients into a clear mixing bowl. “But then again,” he continues, filling a measuring cup with hot water, “people think tying a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue is just a myth, and yet I’ve managed a couple in my time.”

He hands Cas- who’s currently preoccupied with the surprisingly tantalizing picture of Dean tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue- the mixing cup, and Cas dumps the water sloppily into the bowl, spilling some over the sides.

Dean grabs Cas’ wrist to steady it, and puts the cup back on the counter. “Easy on the rough waters, Poseidon. We want it all in the bowl.”

Cas nods, and tries not to sigh.

“The bread would probably taste better if you made it by yourself,” he confesses.

Dean shrugs. “Probably. But it wouldn’t be near as much fun to dump flour over my own head.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Dean stirs the mix, and glances at the clock on the wall.

“Okay, so we have about ten minutes to wait for this mix to settle.”

Cas nods.

“I feel like I’ll excel at this part.”

Dean chuckles and claps Cas on the shoulder.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he promises.

“You’re a very good cook,” Cas observes.

Dean waves off the compliment.

“I cooked what I could for Sam as a kid,” he explains, “and now, obviously, I cook for you and Gigantor almost every night.”

Since Cas has moved into the bunker, the chore list has shifted around a bit to accommodate another person, but Dean still cooks the majority of the meals, and usually complains when it’s Sam’s turn. Sam tends to gravitate towards things like dusting and vacuuming, whereas Cas is surprisingly handy with tools and a paint brush.

“I still don’t understand why you want me helping you, then. There are a number of other chores I would be much better at. There are a large number of files to archive-”

Dean holds up a hand.

“I don’t need details. Besides, if you do all the archiving, Sam’s going to throw a hissy fit. I know you’ve got, like, a billion years of knowledge up there, but you’ve gotta give Sam a chance, too.”

“I wouldn’t think of doing anything in the library without Sam’s permission,” Cas says solemnly.

“Well… good.” Dean says, dumping some flour onto the cutting board.

“Why are you doing that?” Cas asks, drifting over to peer over Dean’s shoulder.

“It’ll keep the dough from sticking to it,” Dean answers, turning slightly into Cas as he does so.

They lock eyes for a moment, hips almost slotted together in the generously spacious kitchen. There’s really no need for them to be this close.

Dean leans back against the counter, smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, Cas,” he says neutrally, hand searching the counter surreptitiously behind him.

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said about the flour,” Dean says seriously.

And before Cas can connect the dots, he finds himself suddenly surrounded by a cloud of white powder, Dean having dumped half a bag of flour over his head.

When the cloud clears, and Dean sees Cas standing there, completely white, and completely _dour_ , Dean loses it, breaking into great peals of laughter.

When Cas opens his mouth and the only thing that comes out is a little puff of white dust, Dean has to grip the counter with one hand and grip his stomach with the other, he’s laughing so hard.

“I think,” Cas says, quietly enough that Dean can’t hear him over his own laughter, “that you probably should have used the whole bag,”

And upends the rest of the bag over Dean’s head.

Which definitely puts an end to his laughter.

“Dude!” he complains, finally straightening up.

When he sees the smile that’s found its way onto Cas’ face, however, he can’t help mirroring it.

“I can’t believe we just wasted a whole bag of flour for that,” he comments, balling up said bag and tossing it into the trash.

“It was entertaining, at least,” Cas says, still smiling.

Dean swipes at Cas’ cheek with his thumb, wiping away some of the flour.

“Yeah, it really was,” he glances up at the clock, as Cas draws patterns into the flour that’s settled on Dean’s arm. “And it passed the time. We gotta do some more baking now.”

After locating a new bag of flour, Dean instructs Cas through the next step, and then watches carefully as he stirs the dough. Once it’s done, he claps his hands together.

“Cas, I knead you,” he says, gesturing at the dough.

Cas nods.

“I need you, too, Dean.”

Dean tries to temper his reaction to that phrase.

“No, Cas, dude, I was making a joke. We’ve gotta knead the dough now.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dean transfers the dough to the board with all the flour on it, and Cas stares at it warily.

“It’s not going to bite,” Dean informs him.

“I know,” Cas responds testily.

He pokes at the dough, and his finger gets stuck in it.

Dean bumps Cas’ hand out of the way, and says, “like this,” before demonstrating.

Cas watches the play of muscle work its way up from Dean’s hands, through his wrists, arms, and shoulders.

“Are you watching?” Dean asks.

“Yes.”

“Alright, then, you give it a go.” Dean steps back from the counter, leaving a space for Cas.

Cas stares at the offending lump of dough, and presses a palm to it.

Dean raises a brow.

“A little more… oomph,” Dean instructs.

Cas presses a little harder.

“Wow, Cas, I think you can do a little better than that.”

Cas sighs and starts kneading properly.

“There you go,” Dean smiles, and Cas can’t help but preen a little under the praise.

He kneads for a few minutes in silence, before a hand snakes around his waist and he feels a chin dropped onto his shoulder.

“You’re not half bad at this, y’know?” Dean confides softly in his ear.

Cas stops his kneading to turn in the circle of Dean’s arm, pressed against the counter.

“Keep going,” Dean says, nodding at the dough, and moves his other hand to Cas’ waist as well.

Cas bites his lip and continues kneading the dough, while Dean, agonizingly slowly, pushes Cas’ shirt up just enough to start rubbing circles over Cas’ hipbones.

Cas sucks in a breath and loses his rhythm for a moment.

“Dean,” he half moans, half chastises. “I thought we were baking bread.”

“We are,” Dean says, as he presses a kiss to Cas’ flour covered shoulder. “Keep kneading.”

Dean starts mouthing at Cas’ neck, pressing hot kisses and making trails with his tongue through the flour covering him.

Cas punches a fist into the dough.

“ _Dean_ ,” He says, more insistently.

Dean smiles into his hair, and moves one of his hands just a little bit lower on Cas’ waist.

Cas whirls around, bread completely forgotten, and slams his mouth into Dean’s.

“How about you knead the damn bread,” he grounds out against Dean’s mouth, fisting his hands in Dean’s hair.

Dean groans, guttural and wanting.

“Or we could just forget about it,” he gasps out when Cas moves to his neck.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Cas agrees, voice dropping a couple notches.

Unfortunately, there’s someone in the bunker who didn’t forget about the bread.

Twenty minutes later, Sam bursts through the kitchen door, calling out, “How’s the bread coming along, guys? I’m really in the mood for a sandwh- _oh my god_ ,”

And he’s out the door faster than Dean’s ever seen, calling bitchily over his shoulder, “I’m going to the store to get a loaf of Dempster’s, you sickos. God, that’s a kitchen! Do you even realize how unhygienic that is?!”

Cas decides that he actually quite likes baking.


End file.
